


Giveaway fic #1

by ConsultingPurplePants



Series: 500 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blowjobs, Coming Untouched, M/M, john has a belly, sherlock loves the belly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 05:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6226099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingPurplePants/pseuds/ConsultingPurplePants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't like his belly. Sherlock does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Giveaway fic #1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :) So this series is just 5 fics I've already published on tumblr. Each fic was based on a prompt by one of my 500 followers giveaway winners, and this one was requested by [@riorothbates](http://riorothbates.tumblr.com).
> 
> I still can't quite believe I actually reached 500 followers, so thank you to everyone who follows me and who participated in the giveaway for all of your support and love <3
> 
> SO without further ado, the prompt for this one was:  
>  _How about some tummy love? We all know that John Watson has got the cutest tummy & Sherlock adores it! Even if john is a little self conscious about it at times. Add your usual dose of Smut Sunday & it sounds pretty damn perfect!_

Sherlock wakes to an empty bed, a warm spot on his right, and a closed bathroom door. He rolls into the warm spot, inhaling deeply (strictly to calculate how long John’s been gone for, of course), and decides that with a margin of error of thirty seconds on either side, John has been gone for five minutes, much longer than he usually takes in the mornings when he wakes with a full bladder. Sherlock frowns into the pillow smashed into his face before reluctantly dragging himself (and his sheet) into the loo.

John doesn’t seem to notice him come in, and Sherlock is about to act extremely affronted about this when he realizes what John is doing.

John is standing as far from the mirror as possible, clearly so that he can see as much of his body as he can. His eyes, however, aren’t focused on his strong, muscular biceps, his lean, perfectly-shaped forearms, his well-defined pectorals, or…

Sherlock shakes his head and (somewhat reluctantly) drags himself back into his deductions. John is staring, with a tiny crease between his eyebrows, at the tiny amount of pudge around his middle. His left hand has come up to absently pat at it, while his right is running forlornly through his hair, and Sherlock can’t bear to see him like this.

“John, come back to bed,” he says, coming around behind him so that he can wrap them both in the sheet.

John hesitates for a moment, but lets himself be held. His head rocks backwards into Sherlock’s shoulder, and for a moment neither of them moves. Eventually, John heaves a drawn-out sigh, and Sherlock takes his hand to pull him back into the bedroom.

Sherlock carefully rearranges John on the bed before taking off the sheet and plastering himself to his side. John is warm, and comforting, and nothing has ever felt more like home than the feeling of John all around him. Sherlock inches down until his face is level with John’s belly, then rubs his face in it.

Sherlock loves this part of John. Everything else about him screams strength, soldier, adrenaline, but this? This is a reminder that John is human, and soft, and likes to sit on the sofa and watch crap telly while eating Chinese takeaway with Sherlock. It’s a secret John hides perfectly well beneath baggy, unflattering, horrifying, blasphemous, hideous…

Sherlock drags himself back again. It’s a secret that John hides perfectly well beneath his… jumpers. His absolutely not-description-worthy jumpers. And that makes it Sherlock’s secret, something of John’s that only he can have. So naturally, Sherlock loves this part of John.

John gives an exasperated huff from above him, and it kills Sherlock sometimes that John doesn’t have the same appreciation for his own body that Sherlock does.

“You don’t have to do that, love… I know it’s not…” he trails off, his hands fluttering sadly.

“Not what, John?” Sherlock demands, raising his head so he can meet John’s eyes.

There’s a pause.

“Not… attractive,” John finally says.

John doesn’t like his belly, and to Sherlock, that is completely unacceptable.

Sherlock inches upwards so he can kiss John’s belly button. He rests his lips on it, reveling in the way they sink slightly into the softer flesh here. He kisses upwards until he can swipe his tongue across the right hypochondriac region, leave exactly six chaste kisses on the epigastric region, work his way down to the right iliac crest. He rubs his cheek across the hypogastric region, refusing to acknowledge the purring noise that he is definitely not making, and that’s when he feels it.

Something hard bumps against his chin, and he looks down to find that John’s cock is not at all disinterested in these proceedings. He looks up, grinning perhaps a little bit wickedly, and John is (finally) smiling right back at him. Sherlock’s heart does something not unlike a backflip in his chest. He moves down and starts to toy with the waistband of John’s pants.

“Yes?” he breathes, his mouth an inch away from John’s clothed cock. His own twitches in sympathy.

“Yes, love,” John replies, already sounding slightly out of breath.

Sherlock doesn’t need any more encouragement than that; he shucks John’s pants and immediately starts to suckle at the head, holding John’s hips down with his forearm when he shouts and bucks up into Sherlock’s mouth.

He gives one more hard suck before completely engulfing John’s cock, resting his nose in dark blonde curls. John’s back arches and Sherlock can feel his thigh muscles straining in an effort not to choke him. When he starts to run out of air, Sherlock pulls off so he can take a breath, then starts bobbing his head up and down as deeply as he can. Each time he feels the head glance off his soft palate, his own cock throbs, and he lets his left hand wander down to stroke himself.

At the first squeeze of his own hand, he groans, and John obviously feels the vibrations because his hands suddenly grip the sheets with white knuckles.

“Sherlock!” he cries, and his hands are scrabbling at the sheets now, trying to get a better grip as Sherlock moans around the cock in his mouth. He’s leaking more than he would have thought possible for a blowjob, and he knows it won’t be long before he comes just from this. He drags his hand away from his cock so he can focus on John.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he tells the panting figure above him.

John doesn’t need to be told twice. His fingers immediately wind through Sherlock’s curls and grip them tightly as Sherlock bobs up and down, swirling his tongue over the head on ever upstroke. John’s hips are bucking now, and Sherlock isn’t making any effort to stop him, his own moaning becoming louder the more John comes undone.

On the next upstroke, Sherlock pulls off almost completely and points his tongue, roughly running it across John’s slit, and that’s it; John freezes, his body arched as he cries out, “Sher—,” but doesn’t get any further before his cock starts pulsing against Sherlock’s lips.

The first splash spreads across Sherlock’s right cheekbone, and the next two hit his left and drip down his face, and that’s all it takes for Sherlock. He’s coming, completely untouched, burying his groans in John’s stomach as his cock jerks against his belly. The aftershocks don’t seem to want to end, and it feels like an eternity before he’s capable of dragging himself back up the bed.

John drowsily uses the sheet to clean up the mess he’s made of Sherlock’s face, and Sherlock can’t help but grab his strong, muscular arm as he mumbles, “I love your belly, John.”

“I realize that,” John murmurs back, but there’s a smile in his voice and Sherlock couldn’t be happier.

“I also love you,” Sherlock replies, and he’s just falling asleep again as he hears John answer, “I love you, too.”


End file.
